


London Sonata

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Greg, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, Comfort Sex, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Infertility, M/M, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega John Watson, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are like music. They have up and downs, passionate swells and quiet dips. And, sometimes, you find a perfect chord. But what happens when the melody is broken?</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Sonata

Movement 1: GRIEF

Greg held John’s hand as they stood by Sherlock’s grave. The omega sighed and dropped his ramrod straight posture to lean against him. Greg put an arm around him; there was hardly a reason to hide their relationship now. They had been three, now they were two.

“Would you bond me?” asked John quietly, eyes still on the implacable gravestone.

The silence stretched out as Greg rolled the thought over in his mind. They hadn’t bonded while Sherlock had been alive. An alpha and two omegas? Everything they’d ever heard said it was impossible, that bonding with a second omega would destroy the bond with the first. So they’d never tried it, simply enjoyed each others company, took care of each other in heat and out. But now...

“Yes, John, I will,” Greg kissed the top of his head. “Your next heat.”

John nodded and pulled away from him to touch the cold stone. Greg remembered when they'd invited him in, Sherlock laying out all the reasons it was logical for Greg to join them, John simply smiling and telling him they both wanted him. Head and heart. He'd kept a separate flat, kept up the illusion that he wasn't involved; after all, everyone seemed to assume Sherlock and John were an omega couple. If anyone saw how protective Greg could be of them, well he was an alpha and a cop, it was to be expected. He was sure Sally suspected But with Sherlock gone, maybe it was better that Baker Street and all it’s memories be laid to rest.

Greg touched John's arm as he turned back to him. "Move in with me?"

"Sure," said John, without emotion.

"Come on," said Greg, taking his hand again as they left the graveyard. "I know you haven't eaten today."

John shrugged, but let Greg put him in his car. They stopped for takeaway and Greg led him into his flat, settling him on the couch while he went into the kitchen for plates.

When he came back John had poured himself a drink. Greg couldn't begrudge him that. They ate in comfortable silence, Greg’s knee resting casually against John's.

It was dark outside as they finished, but neither had moved to turn on the lights. John sighed and leaned against Greg. The alpha held him close, pressing his nose into hair that still smelled faintly of Sherlock and Baker Street. It made his heart ache, and all the more determined to keep John close.

Leaning up, John kissed him tenderly before shifting to straddle Greg's lap. Greg cupped his hips and let him lead, John's hands on his shoulders.

"Take me, please," John whispered.

Greg nodded and kissed him again. They made their way down the hall, stripping one another, taking desperate kisses, smoothing hands over exposed skin. Reaching the bed, Greg crawled over John, as if the alpha could shield his omega from all the troubles outside their door.

"Greg," breathed John, grabbing his shoulders.

Taking one more kiss, Greg grabbed the lube from the drawer. John let his legs fall open obediently as the alpha touched him, quickly preparing him. There was desperation on John's face as he looked up at Greg, a look that made Greg lean in to kiss him again as he slipped inside.

They moaned together, clinging to one another, bodies joined. John's cock rubbed against Greg's stomach and Greg made sure every thrust hit John's prostate until the smaller man came between them with a cry.

The walls holding back John's grief finally crumbled.

John sobbed as he clutched Greg, head buried against his shoulder. Greg rolled over and sat up, keeping John balanced in his lap, tears starting to roll down his own cheeks as he held him tight and kissed the top of his head, trying to be the strength he needed.

After what seemed like hours, John finally raised his head, kissing Greg tenderly. Greg kissed him back and shifted them again until they were laying down with John curled up on his chest. They'd still have to get John's things from Baker Street, but at least neither of them was going to have to go it alone.

**

The next day they went to collect John's things. The flat still smelled mostly of Sherlock, the same way he'd come to dominate the lives of those he touched. John worked upstairs in his old room while Mrs. Hudson and Greg tackled the main floor. Really not a lot was John's, but when Greg picked up Sherlock's favorite mug he found himself fighting back tears.

"It's all right," said Mrs. Hudson. "You take care of each other. I think he'd have liked that."

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Mycroft appearing in the doorway. He looked at Greg as if reading him like a book (which he probably was) and went to collect Sherlock's violin. Greg was too tired to argue about it; instead he picked up the box of John’s belongings and went upstairs to collect their owner.

The former soldier was sitting on the edge of his bed, bag half packed next to him and Sherlock's scarf in his hands. Greg sat next to him. Downstairs they could hear the muffled sounds of Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson moving around and talking.

"How could he do this? To _us_?" Asked John.

"I don't know why he did half the things he did," said Greg, "but somehow it always made sense in the end. I'm sure this will be no different."

"He wasn't a fake," John's hand clenched in his lap.

"I know." Greg folded his hand over the scarf and kissed his temple.

**

Greg went back to work the next day. Just as he settled down to tackle the pile of paperwork, there was a knock on the door frame and he looked up to see Sally, standing uncertainly with two coffees. He nodded and she came in, handing him one.

"Ins...Greg..." She started.

"You're a good cop, Sally," Greg cut her off. "I know you were following your instincts and the evidence."

Sally nodded and sipped her coffee. "Is it true? About you and John?"

Greg met her eyes. "Yes."

Sally nodded. "You'll take care of each other," she said, unknowingly echoing Mrs. Hudson

Greg sipped his coffee and sighed as she walked out, turning his attention back to the paperwork on his desk.

~~~~

Movement 2: Acceptance

Four months later, John felt his heat coming on. He put in the notifications at work, as did Greg, and prepared to spend the next several days in bed.

Greg cooked up a storm to make sure his soon to be mate would have enough to last them. John tied Sherlock's scarf to a post of their bed.

When John woke in the wee hours of the morning, Greg already had his arms around him, breathing in his heat-scent.

"I still want you to bond me," said John, rocking back against Greg's growing erection.

"I'm glad," Greg rolled John onto his stomach, entering him. "I love you," he whispered in John's ear.

John's heart stopped, even as his body welcomed Greg. Taking a breath, John found himself opening his heart completely to the one alpha that would have chosen them both. "I love you, too."

Greg kissed his neck, taking him slowly as his heat began to build in earnest. John moaned as the alpha's knot began to swell. Pushing back against him, John urged Greg to move faster, to take and claim.

A hand wrapped around his cock. There was a brief moment of panic when the swollen knot pressed against him...then Greg shoved in and bit down as John spilled across the sheets.

The pleasure-pain of a heat orgasm was heightened by a rush of chemicals as the bond formed. _I'm bonded_. Panic rose up and Greg disengaged his teeth, licking the bite, trying to calm him.

John took a deep breath as Greg rolled them onto their sides, knotted tightly together. He ran his hands down John's side before reaching up and moment later handing him the scarf.

Tucking it under his chin, John found the scent calmed him, especially as it mixed with Greg's. "I wish I could have bonded you both," Greg said regretfully.

"I know," mumbled John, turning his head to kiss him.

Greg wrapped his arms around him and they both fell back asleep until the next round.

The next few days were full of lovemaking and when John's heat ended they tied the scarf back on the bedpost, leaving it as a reminder of their missing lover.

**

As time passed, the scarf began to lose its scent. John and Greg didn’t mention it, didn’t mention how sometimes one or the other would untie it carefully from the bedpost, and hold it. How they would finger it in passing, letting the fading scent of Sherlock escape the fabric and drift into the air, how it stayed on the bed post, a silent reminder of who was missing as they moved together in the night.

And sometimes, they would sit together, leaning on one another, eyes closed and handfasted by the scarf, pretending, for just a moment, that Sherlock was still with them.

Months turned into a year, the pair spending the somber anniversary together in their flat. They had thought about leaving London, finding somewhere to distract them, but decided not to. It felt wrong to leave all the good that had happened to avoid the bad. They made love as night fell, greeting the light-washed stars wrapped in each others arms. They took comfort in the fact that, though they still missed Sherlock, they wouldn’t have to face the rising sun alone.

John threw himself into his work at the clinic. Greg had a few major cases at the yard. One might work late or the other, but they always found a time to come together. And slowly it became easier, the grief eased and faded, though the scar would always be there.

Late in the autumn, a year and a half after Sherlock's death, John and Greg were walking around the park, holding hands. John went to get a treat from the vendor and when he came back he found Greg sitting on the bench, watching children play.

"They are cute, but then you have to take them home," John joked, handing him the ice lolly.

A flicker of sadness crossed Greg's face and he tried to hide it in taking a bite.

"Hey," John took his hand. "Do you _want_ kids?"

"Wouldn't it be a bit ridiculous? My long hours and yours?" Greg's eyes were still on the playground.

"We could try," said John, leaning against him. "I bet we could even make it work. Maybe have a little boy."

Greg wrapped an arm around him and held him close, leaning in to kiss his forehead, lips cold from the lolly. “We could name him Sherlock.” Greg whispered.

Smiling softly, John turned his head up to kiss him. He knew a kid wouldn't make their family whole, but it might be good for them, help fill the empty spaces. They could tell him about their ridiculous namesake and all the trouble he used to get in.

The next heat broke that dream too. When John didn't get pregnant, he made an appointment with a fertility specialist. John was a doctor, he knew exactly what the terms meant. He and Greg quietly mourned that loss too, but they both knew it had only been a chance. Greg cut back his hours, tried to be home for dinner more often. Life went on.

**

As the second anniversary approached, Greg surprised John one evening by taking him out. John leaned in and kissed him, knowing he was trying to make up for the past weeks late schedule. "You really don't have to."

Greg kissed him. "I love you. You deserve a night out."

John kissed him back. "Love you too." They held hands as they went in, but never expected dinner to be interrupted by a ghost.

~~~~

Movement 3: Rebirth

Nearly two years. Twenty-two months of longing for home, longing for his lovers, dreaming of John or Greg or both. Twenty-two months away from London, hunting, fighting, make sure that _they_ would be safe.

Twenty-two months and now he stood in a doorway seeing the two people he needed most sitting together, leaning in to one another. Greg laughed at something John said and Sherlock's heart broke. They didn't need him. They had one another.

He started to turn away, to run, tears stinging his eyes. He didn't see two heads snap up as the open door behind him and swept his scent into the restaurant. He did hear the commotion and then feel two pairs of hands grabbing his arms.

"Don't you dare walk out of here, Sherlock Holmes," Greg growled.

Closing his eyes a moment, he turned to face them. John's eyes went from rage to disbelief. Greg looked a little calmer, but he kept a firm grip on Sherlock's elbow as he steered him to their table.

Sherlock sat where he was put, picking at the napkin in front of him, unable to look at either of them. Greg put a hand on John's leg to contain him. "Explain," he said to Sherlock, voice rough with emotion.

Eyes glued to the table, Sherlock mumbled his story. How he had to fake his death to protect them, how he'd spent the last two years dismantling Moriarty's web.

When he finished John reached over and tilted up his chin. "We missed you."

Sherlock stared into his eyes, fighting back tears. Greg reached across and took his hand. Sherlock shook his head and pulled away from them both. He could smell the difference in them, see the hint of a mark below John’s collar. “You’ve bonded. I can’t I…” He stood up suddenly and bolted, hearing Greg say something to John.

**

He went back to Baker Street. It was dark; even Mrs. Hudson’s light was off. With a trembling hand he turned his key and found it still worked. Either that or Mycroft had slipped him the new one without his notice. He didn’t want to think about that.

Quietly Sherlock moved up the stairs, taking a steadying breath as he turned the handle and fumbled for the light switch. The flat was nearly exactly how he’d left it. Apparently Mrs. Hudson had been dusting.

But as he moved through the flat, it felt like something was missing. As Sherlock turned on the kettle and opened a cabinet, he realized what it was; John was gone. Well, John’s things. But it felt like the life had been sucked out of the place. It was only four walls now. The little bit of Greg that had been here was gone too.

Rubbing his face, Sherlock left the kettle to boil and went down the hall. He crawled into the bed, burying his face into the sheets, seeking any remnant of their scent. They hadn’t bonded here, of course not, John would have moved in with Greg for that. He wondered how long they’d waited, if they’d even grieved.

That was stupid. Of course they’d grieved. He could see that in their faces when he showed up. Like an idiot. Maybe he should have stayed away.

The kettle whistled and made himself get up and fix a cuppa. If John was here he’d be making him drink it, maybe while waiting for Greg to bring takeaway for a nice evening in. Shaking his head, he tried to banish the ghosts.

When Sherlock settled in his chair, he realized his violin was sitting next to it. Clearly someone had taken care of it while he’d been gone. Mycroft, he knew with a frown. Still, he finished his tea and then picked it up, lovingly tuning it before drawing the bow across the strings.

Music calmed him, as it so often had, driving the black thoughts to the corners of his mind. He was so wrapped up in his music that he didn’t realize he had company until Mrs. Hudson dropped the flashlight she was carrying.

He froze and stared at her. “You’re home,” she said at last. Stating the obvious.

Sherlock nodded.

“Have you rung John and Greg?” She watched him closely,

“I saw them. They’ve bonded.” Sherlock carefully put his violin away.

“I know,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll bring you a cold supper, dear,” She collected her flashlight and went back down the stairs.

**

Sherlock stayed in the next day, not yet ready to face the world at large. They didn’t call and he didn’t expect them to. Mrs. Hudson fussed a bit, then left him alone. He picked up his mobile several times, fingers hovering over the buttons, before replacing it on the table. Stupid. Sentiment. After a while he curled up in bed and tried to sort through his mind palace, but he couldn’t bring himself to delete John and Greg; that was a step too far.

Sometime in the late evening he came out of his mind only to realize he felt uncomfortable in his clothes. Frowning, he stripped down, only to realize that his heat was beginning. He’d dealt with his heats when they came while on the run; fortunately he’d never had them very often. Now that he was in London, he shouldn’t have to go it alone. But he suppose his choice had been made when he’d jumped from Barts. He curled up in the blankets and waited for the heat to start properly.

To Sherlock’s surprise, a short time later he heard voice coming up the stairs. He raised his head to find John and Greg standing at the foot of his bed. John was clutching his scarf in one hand. The first wave of heat washed over him and he buried his head under the pillows.

Greg came to the edge of the bed and sat. “Sherlock. We want to help you through this. I want to bond you.”

That got Sherlock’s attention and raised his head again. “You’ve bonded with John. You can’t.”

“Actually I’ve done research,” John came to sit on the other side of him. “There’s no biological reason Greg can’t bond with multiple omegas. Society doesn’t approve, but well…”

“Society,” scoffed Sherlock, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth. “You really want to try?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” said Greg, reaching out to run a fingers through his curls. Sherlock leaned into the alpha’s touch. “I love both of you.”

“And so do I,” said John.

Sherlock looked at both of them. _Love?_ That was never a word any of them had used before. He checked with himself. It wasn’t just the heat. He remembered all the lonely nights, how all he’d wanted was to get home to these two and the little family that they’d made.

“Okay,” said Sherlock. He swallowed. “Please?”

John leaned in and kissed him. Sherlock melted, moaning softly against his lips as he rolled onto his side. Never breaking the kiss, John stripped, leaving the scarf on the bed as he climbed in next to the other omega. Sherlock ran his hands over John’s body, feeling how it had become softer, perhaps in part due to Greg’s cooking.

But then Greg got into bed on the other side and he moaned again as the alpha lifted the sheet and pressed against him, hard cock nudging against his arse, triggering a wave of slick.

John finally broke the kiss to slide beneath the blankets tangling their feet together. Sherlock turned his head to kiss Greg and breathed in their scents together and he knew he was home even before Greg lifted his thigh and nudged his way inside.

“You’re ours,” said John, stroking their cocks together.

“I need you,” breathed Sherlock, meaning them both. He felt like he was floating, or dreaming, being here again, between the two of them.

“I’ve got you,” said Greg, holding his hip as he drove into him.

Sherlock nodded and turned back to kiss John as Greg’s teeth grazed his shoulder. Already the alpha’s knot was swelling and he knew in a moment he’d be knotted and claimed.

“I was worried too,” said John, as if reading his mind. He grabbed the scarf and Greg put his hand on Sherlock’s chest. John wrapped the scarf around all three of their hands. “Smelling you, in this, it calmed me. That’s why I know this will work.”

With a deep breath Sherlock nodded and looked into John’s eyes, until he had to squeeze them shut. Greg pushing his knot in, making Sherlock cry out, making him come, making John come and Greg’s teeth clamped down on his scent gland and the best he could say afterward was that everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

Finally, Sherlock opened his eyes again. Greg was still in him, holding him, licking the bond mark. John was smiling at him, the scarf still in place.

“Are you…?” asked Sherlock.

“I’m fine. We’re fine.” John gave a small kiss to Sherlock, then Greg.

“I’m sorry I left you,” said Sherlock softly. “I had to…”

“I know,” said Greg. “But you’re never going to leave us again.”

“And we’ll always take care of each other,” promised John.

Eventually the other two fell asleep, but Sherlock lay awake, composing a new song with three parts in his head. He could hardly believe he was so lucky, but at long last, he knew he was home.

Sherlock lay awake long after the other two had fallen asleep. The sounds of London could be heard in the night, and soft patter of rain, along with the sound of Baker Street settling. His arms were wrapped around John and Greg and he could almost swear he could hear their heartbeats. As he listened to the rhythm a song began to form in his head and he smiled in the darkness, knowing one gift he could give them.

~~~~

CODA

On the second anniversary of the day he’d jumped from Bart’s, Sherlock looked at Greg and John, sitting together on the Baker Street sofa. Greg was holding his glass of champagne, John was simply looking happy as he leaned on him.

With a nod, Sherlock picked up his violin and closed his eyes as he started to play. The three themes started off separate, came together, separated to two, and then back to three. When he finished, Sherlock opened his eyes again to look at his bondmates.

Greg had tears shining in his eyes. John stood and came to him, reaching up to cup his cheeks and kiss him deeply. Greg found his feet after a moment and came to join them. Sherlock set the violin carefully aside and wrapped his long arms around them both, the last strains still echoing in the flat. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Much much thanks to HumsHappily and Beltainefaire for getting me through, as well as type_40_consulting_detective, beautifully heeled and conductoroftardislight for the beta.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
